


While I Follow Like Thread

by leyley09



Series: To the Bitter End [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Because drunk possessive Jonny was one of the highlights of last summer, Birthday Bonanza, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leyley09/pseuds/leyley09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which an inebriated Jonathan Toews comes up with a way to keep Patrick Kane within arm's reach at all times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While I Follow Like Thread

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation about the Dierks Bentley concert gifs that started something like this: “I really think drunk Jonny would be a lot happier if he had one of those kiddie leashes to keep Kaner from wandering off.” (Title from "Tie Me Up! Untie Me!" by mewithoutYou.)
> 
> Many thanks to Ceruleandarkangelis for checking behind me, even though she has no idea who any of these people are. :D ChelseaIBelieve, this is mostly your fault; I hope you love it.
> 
> Ecstatic that I finished in time to throw this at the Patrick Kane Birthday Bonanza; the universe must approve.
> 
> *Update* - In case anyone was wondering, 'the bitter end' is the end of a rope that is tied off to something.

 

 

 

Let's never forget this happened:

 

It takes him 10 minutes to convince Sharpy to give up his shoelaces. Shawzy hands his over without question; he doesn’t even stop talking to the guys across the table from him, just pulls his laces out and passes them back over his shoulder. Seabs is definitely judging him, but whatever; like he’s got any room to talk. Because Duncs knows useful things like knots (and is slightly less drunk than Jonny is), he gets to tie them all together. He ties each set together and then braids them all into a rope, all without unwanted commentary. Duncs is the best.

Now with rope in hand, he plunges back into the crowd. 20 minutes ago, when Jonny had had this brilliant idea, Pat was over by the bar. Fortunately, he’s still there, talking to a handful of girls waiting for the bartender’s attention. The gaggle of females is distracting enough that Pat doesn’t notice him sneaking up.

Pat is his _favorite_ person to stand next to when he’s drunk; Pat’s just the right height to lean on without having to bend too far, and he’s sturdy enough to take some of Jonny’s weight without being crushed. Pat’s also the only one of the guys who doesn’t complain about it. Jonny’s going to wonder about that some day when he’s sober. Eventually.

Right now, he’s too busy wrapping himself around Pat like an octopus. The girls giggle; Pat just readjusts his hat, which Jonny appreciates because the bill had been stabbing him in the throat.

“What’s this?” One of the girls tugs on the bundle of shoelaces Jonny is still clutching tightly.

“Oh! It’s to, uh, to make sure Pat stops wandering off.”

Jonny really doesn’t understand why all the girls are laughing. This is a perfectly reasonable solution. Pat keeps being not where Jonny wants him, and it’s not like Jonny keeps one of those kiddie leashes on him. He’s tried just keeping a hold of Pat all the time, but that’s really not practical, and every time he lets go - for two fucking seconds! - Pat wanders off again.

Pat elbows him in the side, jostling Jonny away just enough to give him the space to shift around so he can look Jonny in the face.

“What exactly do you think you are going to do with _that_?” He sounds kind of annoyed.

“Here, see, we’ll tie this end to you,” Jonny says, fumbling at the belt loops at the front of Pat’s jeans. He’s startled by the squawking noise Pat makes, but it’s hard to flinch away from a loud noise when you’re holding on to the source of it. His fingers are still tangled in the belt loops, so they both topple to the floor in an excellent display of Jonny’s drunken balance.

Pat’s clearly less drunk than Jonny is, because he’s up off the floor fast enough that Jonny doesn’t even have time to feel smothered by the weight of him. That’s disappointing. _Why is that disappointing?_

He’s still thinking about that as he lets Pat pull him up from the floor. Pat’s saying something about finding the rest of the guys, but Jonny’s really only paying attention to the arm wrapped around his waist. See, if Pat would just do this all the time, he wouldn’t need to tie them together with people’s shoelaces. _Wait a second, ‘all the time’? No, no, actually that’s not a bad idea._

“You know, if you would just do this all the time, I wouldn’t need these sh-, these uh, this rope thing.”

“Do what all the time, Jonny.”

“Be where you’re supposed to be.” _Duh._

“And where, exactly, is that.” Pat’s annoyed with him again. He doesn’t understand _why_ , but he never likes it.

“Right here.”

“Jonathan, that is less than helpful.” Jonny’s dumped pretty abruptly onto the world’s most uncomfortable chair. “Can someone keep an eye on him, please? He was trying to tie someone’s shoelaces to my pants.”

Oh, right, this is their table.

“We tried to talk him out of it, Peeks,” Sharpy is saying from across the table. “He was very persistent though. We figured it was just better for everyone; he gets all cranky when he doesn’t know where you are.”

“Too fucking bad,” Pat snaps at him. He tosses the shoelace rope into the middle of the table and storms off.

“Well that backfired a bit,” Seabs says, after an awkward moment of silence. “What the hell did you do, Tazer?”

“I don’t know. Well, he might be kinda mad because we fell down, but that was mostly his fault, I mean, he startled me while I was trying to tie the thing to his pants --”

“Wait, what?!” Sharpy talks right over the top of him. “Didn’t you just tell me that you were going to tie it to his wrist?”

“Well, I _was_ , but then I remembered he waves his hands around sometimes when he talks, and I thought that would be annoying.”

“Did you explain that to Kaner, or did you just dive right in?” Jonny doesn’t understand why Seabs thinks that question is so funny.

“I was gonna explain it as I did it, but I didn’t have time.”

“Because of the falling down.” Even Duncs is laughing at him now. Maybe he’s not the best.

“Look, he made me jump while I was trying to tie the thing, and I lost my balance. Falling down was not part of the plan.”

“But getting in Kaner’s pants was?”

“Yes.” Well that sounds much worse than it was. It’s too late though; everyone’s already laughing. “Goddammit, I didn’t mean it like that, assholes.”

The group of guys at this end of the table stop laughing and share a very serious look. Seabs ends up with the short straw, apparently, because he sighs and leans across the table towards Jonny.

“Buddy, I think that might be the problem.”

“The problem with what?”

“Jesus, Tazer, keep up, the problem of why Kaner’s so pissed.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t want me in his pants, so why would he be mad that I don’t want to be?”

Everyone at his end of the table is looking at him like an he’s an idiot. Jonny reviews that last sentence; he’s pretty sure all the words came out in the right order. He’s not _that_ drunk, for christ’s sake.

“I have not had nearly enough beer for this,” Sharpy announces. He drags Duncs with him to the bar, leaving a buffer of space between Jonny, Seabs, and the rest of the table.

“I don’t understand,” he repeats to Seabs.

“I know, buddy. We thought you’d figure it out for yourself eventually, but at this rate we’ll still be waiting at your retirement ceremony.” Seabs sighs, leaning his head on one hand. “Jonny, Kaner is totally stupid about you. The _whole world_ knows this, so I have no idea why you don’t. And, the thing is, pretty much the whole world thinks you’re pretty stupid about him, too.”

“I am not!”

“You just tried to tie him to you with three pair of shoelaces because he won’t stay within arm’s reach voluntarily!”

“I, I ---,” Jonny stutters to a halt. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Jonny shoves away from the table so abruptly his chair crashes to the ground behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Seabs asks.

“I gotta find Kaner.”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea, man, not right now. You know he’ll yell, and people will definitely be taking pictures of that.”

“People will be taking pictures of what?” Sharpy drops back into his chair.

“Tazer wants to go looking for Kaner now that he’s figured out what the shoelaces were about.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have to do that. Duncs is bringing Kaner back with him, they were right behind me.”

Just as he finishes, Duncs appears and sort of pushes Pat at Jonny, which is a little unnecessary. “Sit down, both of you.”

Jonny picks up his chair, Pat takes Duncs’ chair, and Duncs moves around the end of the table to sit next to Seabs. Both Duncs and Sharpy glare at Pat until he reaches for the shoelaces on the table. He looks at the rope for a long moment, and then offers one end to Jonny.

“I want to go on the record that I think this is ridiculous, but if it will keep you from being even weirder, let’s just get it over with.”

The guys across the table are trying to stifle their grins, but Jonny just can’t. He knows he’s beaming like a fucking idiot as he loops the makeshift rope through one of his own belt loops. Pat finishes his first. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, and he’s frowning at the guys across the table.

“You all suck, by the way, for encouraging this loser.”

As the conversation degenerates into increasingly pathetic chirps, Jonny slides his chair just a little bit closer to Pat’s so he can put his arm on the back of Pat’s chair. He’s pretty sure he’s not imagining it when Pat leans into it, just a little.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Seabs cuts him off two drinks later and insists that Pat make sure he gets home. Jonny isn't nearly drunk enough to forget where he lives, and he starts to protest. Duncs kicks him under the table, hard, right in the shin.

“Ow, asshole, what the hell?”

“Didn't you have something you wanted to talk to Kaner about?” Seabs hisses.

Right! Jonny jumps to his feet, forgetting he's actually attached to Pat now. Pat's jerked sideways out of his chair, but manages to save himself from crashing to the floor by virtue of face planting into Jonny’s thighs. There's a moment of silence before everyone cracks up laughing.

Pat looks less amused when he rights himself on his chair. He glares at Jonny while he unties the shoelaces from Jonny’s jeans. He might think that's getting his point across, but it's really not. It’s just fucking distracting. Turns out being glared at is a thing that works for Jonny; who knew?

As soon as the laces are free, Jonny pulls Pat to his feet and pushes him towards the exit.

“I want my shoelaces back, fuckers!” Seabs shouts behind him. Jonny and Pat both give him the finger.

The door to the outside snaps closed behind them.

Jonny’s maybe had more to drink than he should have, because he doesn't even notice the cab pulling up to the curb until he's being pushed into the backseat. Pat must still be annoyed, because he's not very nice about it.

“Pat, Pat, hey,” Jonny says, grabbing Pat's wrist as he rights himself on the seat.

“What, Jonny.”

“Don't be mad, ok? I didn't mean to make you mad. You just, you don't, and - and you need to. I can’t when you’re not and then things happen and it’s just not good, okay?”

“Jonny.”

“Yeah?”

“You should probably stop talking, you aren’t making any sense. You can lecture me all about why I shouldn’t be mad at you tomorrow.”

“But you’re mad _now_ , and I don’t know _why_.”

“I know you don’t, Jonny, stop whining,” Pat snaps. “But you’ve been perfectly happy being oblivious up till now, so just let it go okay?” He jerks his arm away and crosses both arms tightly across his chest.

Jonny slumps back into his corner of the seat. He knows he’s pouting, but he’s entitled, damn it. He tried to have a conversation with Pat, and it’s not his fault that Pat isn’t listening. He’s still pouting when the cab slows to a stop.

“Jonny.”

“What,” he mumbles into his lap.

“Are you coming?” Pat’s already out of the cab, leaning back in to peer through the open door at Jonny.

“Huh?”

“Are. You. Coming.” Pat pauses and starts to frown. “You can go home, I guess, if you want, but I’m supposed to make sure you don’t injure yourself and you’ve got stairs.”

“No, no, I am, I’m coming.” It’s not as easy to climb out of this cab as it should be; maybe the guys were right about him being too drunk to be alone. He stumbles on the curb, but doesn’t crash into the sidewalk as he expected. Even inebriated, Pat’s reflexes are better than most people’s, so Jonny finds himself in his favorite place - tangled up with Pat. Fuck, he has been so stupid.

“Pat,” he mumbles into the side of Pat’s head.

“Yeah Jonny,” Pat replies, propping him up a little more vertically.

“You are, you know, you are like my _faaaaaaavorite_ person, in-in like the whole world.”

“No, Jonny, I’m really not.” Shit, now Pat sounds sad. That’s even worse than angry. When he’s angry, at least he yells back; when he’s sad, he doesn’t talk at all.

“No, but you are. You are just the best, like, you- you’re better than Duncs, and he knows how to tie knots.”

“What makes me better than knot-tying Duncs, Jonny?” Pat maneuvers them into the elevator, and leans Jonny against the wall so he can select his floor.

“You are, okay, it’s like a secret, be-because I don’t want to share with, uh, with anybody, but you are like the best for leaning on.”

Across the elevator, Pat doesn’t look convinced that this is a good thing.

“Cause, you’re like just the right size and you, you just fit, you know? And I can lean on you without wo-worrying that I’m gonna smush you. And, uh, and you know what else you’re the best for? You are totally the best for hugging. Like, way better than, than just everybody. Ever.”

“Jonny.” Pat looks...worse than sad. Jonny’s too drunk to remember what comes after sad, but it’s definitely not good. “Jonny, please stop talking. Please.”

“But, I gotta, Seabs says I gotta tell you that I’m stupid too, and I don’t wanna forget.”

“Okay, so you told me. Can you please stop now?” The elevator bumps to a stop, and Pat gingerly directs him down the hall to the door. He manages to get the door unlocked and both of them through it without any obvious struggles; Jonny is impressed again. Once inside, he pushes Jonny in the general direction of the bedrooms.

“You know where the guest room is, man, so just go be asleep already. Drink some water!”

Jonny only bumps into a couple things, one of which might be a wall, on his way. He stumbles through the bedroom into the attached bath, and remembers to haphazardly brush his teeth with a finger before chugging a couple glasses of water. He makes it back out into the bedroom without falling over any of the stuff on the floor - the guest room was not this messy the last time he was here - which he counts a great success as he face plants into the mattress. His last thought is that he needs to find out what kind of laundry detergent Pat is using because it smells _awesome_.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Jonny wakes gradually the next morning. He’s aware first of the pounding in his head, then the nausea every time he shifts. He slowly works up the nerve to crack open his eyes. Bad decision; the curtains are wide open and pouring daylight directly into his retinas. He hides behind the pillow.

As he lays there, evaluating the possibility of dying like this, his brain is processing what he saw in the brief seconds his eyes were open.

This isn’t Pat’s guest room; it’s his actual bedroom.

Shit.

He - they didn’t, oh god - no, no, they didn’t. He’s still in everything he was wearing last night, including his shoes, ugh. There’s no way he went to all that trouble, not as drunk as he was.

He forces himself upright and cracks his eyelids just enough to make out the room. If Pat was in here at all last night, any evidence has vanished. The other side of the bed looks untouched, like Jonny didn’t move at all once he fell asleep. He can hear noise, though, on the other side of the door.

He drags a hand down his face, thinking. He doesn’t remember much of the conversation last night after leaving the bar, and what he does remember doesn’t make any sense. He does remember Pat being both angry and miserable at different points. _What the hell did I say?_

He’s jolted from his thoughts by the bedroom door slamming open with such force it bounces off the wall. The noise stabs into his head like a dull knife. He collapses back onto the mattress to hide under a pillow.

“Up and at ‘em, sunshine!” Pat shouts, with a vicious grin.

“Fucking hell, Patrick,” he groans.

“Hey, if you’re going to be an asshole and then steal my bed, you have to deal with the consequences.” Pat is sitting on the edge of the mattress now, bouncing up and down. The wave-like motion is doing evil things to Jonny’s nausea. He rolls off the bed onto the floor; at least that won’t move.

“C’mon, Jonny, you’ll feel better if you shower and eat something.” Pat pokes him in the side with a toe.

“Pat, I don’t know what I said last night, but I feel like this might be overdoing the revenge.”

“Oh, do you?” Pat doesn’t _quite_ kick him in the thigh. “How about you just trust me that I could be doing a lot worse to you right now. Get up, asshole.” He slams the door closed on his way out of the room too.

Well, fuck.

A shower revives him a bit; more of last night is filtering in. He can’t shake the image of Pat’s miserable expression in the elevator, and he’s rinsing shampoo out of his hair when he remembers what he was saying.

_And, uh, and you know what else you’re the best for? You are totally the best for hugging. Like, way better than, than just everybody. Ever._

Goddammit. If Seabs was right last night, he told Pat a bunch of stuff Pat actually wants to hear, but he did it while completely plastered. There’s no way Pat believes he meant any of it. No wonder Pat’s pissed. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He barely resists the urge to pound his already throbbing head against the shower wall.

He finishes his shower in a rush. His jeans from last night are tolerable enough to wear, and he steals an old Hawks shirt out of Pat’s dresser that….might actually have been his at one point. The printing is faded, but what’s left wouldn’t make up an eight. He lets that fill him with hope that he can fix this, just for a second, before pulling the shirt over his head and going looking for Pat.

Pat is in the kitchen blending god only knows what into some kind of smoothie. He’s got the radio playing quietly under the blender, and he’s humming and swaying along with the music. Jonny leans against the doorframe and waits for the blender to shut off. He lets Pat pour the smoothie into glasses before he starts; he knows better than to startle Pat while he’s pouring liquids. Again.

“Seabs told me last night that I needed to tell you that I was stupid.”

Pat jumps, just a little. “You did that last night, so-”

“I know, I remember. But I left the important part out when I was telling you.”

“Oh?” Either what’s left in that blender is very interesting, or Pat is refusing to look at him.

_You just, you don't, and - and you need to. I can’t when you’re not and then things happen and it’s just not good, okay?_

“I didn’t mean to make you angry last night, but you don’t stay where I want you to - with me - and I need you to. I can’t pay attention to anything else when you’re not there, and things happen, like those girls at the bar, and then you’re gone and I’m just, it’s not good after that. For some reason, drunk me thought that I could get you to stay by making it physically impossible for you to walk away. But Seabs sort of slapped me upside the head, which is a good indication I got that wrong. I shouldn’t be using shoelaces to get you to stay with me.”

Jonny moves slowly away from the doorway. Pat’s still facing the counter, shoulders tense, death grip on the handle of the blender. He waits until he’s just out of reach to continue.

“Yeah, see, I’m stupid because I never took the time to figure out why drunk me won’t let you out of arm’s reach. I’m crazy about you and didn’t even notice. Everything I said last night? I meant every word of that, Patrick. You are the best, just, the best everything I can think of.”

He wants to hold his breath. The only noise in the room seems to be his breathing, and the radio announcing the travel time on the Kennedy is an hour and twenty minutes out to O’Hare. Jonny feels like he’s heard every possible traffic delay in the Chicagoland area before Pat responds.

“That is pretty stupid, Jonny.” It’s too measured, like Pat’s working very hard to sound unaffected, but with his back turned, Jonny can’t tell what reaction he’s hiding. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the “Seabs is crazy” explanation that must be coming.

“I mean, shoelaces, Jonny? The best you could do was shoelaces?”

His eyes snap open; Pat’s shit-eating grin is the only thing he can see.

“Half the people at that table were wearing useless belts, and you had to rob everyone of their shoelaces?”

Jonny sags with relief. He socks Pat in the shoulder. “God, you’re such a dick.”

“Yeah,” Pat smirks. “But you like it.”

“Yeah,” Jonny grins helplessly. “I do.”

 


End file.
